Welcome to Hydeville (One Difference: Hyde Doesn't Toss Jackie's Bag)
by MistyMountainHop
Summary: When Jackie tries to prove her coolness to Hyde, Hyde shows her just how uncool life with him would be.
1. Part I

**Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show _copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

**WELCOME TO HYDEVILLE**

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:  
><strong>HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG<strong>

Part I**  
><strong>

Hyde shielded his eyes from The Hub's back exit. It was brightly lit, and his shades weren't dark enough. He opened the door, expecting the night to take over, but the bulbs shone on the building outside, painting the graffiti-scrawled bricks red.

He scoffed. This neighborhood was decidedly unseedy, despite some petty vandalism. But add in ripped-up fliers, dead leaves, and un-chucked garbage, and The Hub's parking lot resembled the worst part of town.

Still, he had no regrets. The front entrance might've been cleaner, classier, but it was also Jackie-er. She'd left The Hub a half-hour before him, but that meant little. She was a master skulker. Catching him alone in the basement, in the school cafeteria, and tonight at The Hub. But she wasn't content in just pursuing her prey. She sought to pen him inside her world. Her latest stunt: signing them up for roller-disco lessons, a class starting right about now.

He walked further into the parking lot and rolled his shoulders. They were tensing up. A Lincoln Continental was parked a few feet from him. A white, expensive-as-hell ride. A perfect canvas for juvenile delinquents like him. It didn't belong here.

"Hey, Hyde."

That voice didn't belong here either. His neck stiffened, but he refused to crack it. Point Place's map needed a significant revision. Screw _Here Be Dragons. _The only warning he needed was _Here Be Jackie._

She was leaning against The Hub, against the graffiti-scrawled bricks and ripped-up fliers. Arms crossed over her chest and legs crossed at the ankles. A look of apathy deadened her face, an expression she'd stolen from him.

Ignoring her was useless. Feigning indifference only inspired her to work harder. He thought he'd scared her off earlier. Had told her a truth that wasn't quite the truth, hurled a rejection hard enough to bruise. It should have kept her away, not just tonight but in perpetuity.  
><em><br>_"Oh, no," he said now, loading his voice with sarcasm, "is the roller-disco craze over already?"

"Of course not," she said, and he turned back around. Attention was what she craved. He wouldn't give it to her. His eyes locked onto the Sedan beside the Lincoln, but her boots scraped the pavement She was following him. "Look, Hyde, I just wanted you to know I'm not a square cheerleader."

He scrapped Plan A—retreat—and faced her. She'd pursue him to the ends of the parking lot, to the ends of the damn earth if he didn't torch her illusions about him.

"I'm on the wrong side of the law," she said before he could speak, "because I have this."

She held out a brown paper bag, the kind lunches were packed in. Wrong side of the law? Maybe the wrong side of nutrition. Packing candy bars instead of carrot sticks.

"Oh, no, a paper bag," he said with the same attitude as before, "run!" He tried to match the apathy on her face, but disgust seeped in. He was the reason for her dead expression. If she couldn't rope him into her world, then she'd try to fit into his.

He wouldn't let her. His next rejection would draw blood, but she opened the bag. Inside it was another bag, a clear plastic one filled with pot.

"Jackie—!" Her offering struck him like lightning. It fried all pretense, and his indifference became a smoky burn mark.

"Oh, yeah," she said with an air of cool. "I bought it. In the ghetto."

"Jackie, there is no ghetto here." He balled his hands into fists, to keep himself from snatching the paper bag. "I mean there's, like, that one house that needs to be painted."

"Okay, fine." She crossed her arms over her chest again, and the bag skimmed her hip. "I bought it from my housekeeper. Whatever."

Hyde's throat hurt. Anger and fear scorched it like stomach acid. "So what're you saying? You wanna be, like, a burn-out now?"

Finally, her face quit playing dead. Her eyes widened, and she appeared more alive, more pleading than maybe he'd ever seen her. "No—_no!_ Hyde, I just wanna be with you, okay? I think you're one of the coolest, sweetest guys I've ever met."

No, she didn't. She was damn delusional. He reached out for the paper bag, intending to toss it as far away from her as possible. His hand clamped down on her wrist instead. "You wanna be with me? Okay, I'll show you what bein' with me is really like."

He pulled her, not gently, past the Lincoln. "My car!" she said. "I can't leave it."

"No fancy cars in my life, doll." He let her go. "Your choice."

She started to answer, but a cop crept out of the shadows. He was a skinny guy, a rookie whose oversized jacket made him look like a kid. Hyde understood the logic. Point Place P.D. had sent its youngest to patrol teenagers.

"Is there a problem here?" the cop said.

"No, sir, officer," Hyde said, fixing his gaze squarely on the cop. A wrong flick of the eyes would be the same as confessing. Blindly, he felt for Jackie's hand, and a rustling came from her direction. Then her fingers wrapped around his palm. "There's no problem at all. Right, Jackie?"

"No problem at all," she said, "except for you being a jerk."

The cop's sparse mustache twitched, and she continued. "You see, officer, my _boyfriend _and I were just arguing over our date tonight. I signed us up for roller-disco lessons at Skateworld, but he refuses to go. That has to be a finable offense, doesn't it? At least a misdemeanor—"

The cop tugged on the brim of his hat. "Sorry, miss. I'm afraid it's not."

Hyde tightened his grip on Jackie's hand and led them toward the cop. "You know what's a finable offense? Expecting me to wear one of those pansy-ass skating outfits."

The cop chuckled as they passed him."You two have a good night," he said.

Once they were free and clear of the parking lot, Hyde checked Jackie over. She'd hidden the paper bag beneath her armpit. "Quick thinking," he said, "but I will never be your boyfriend. So you can flush that little idea out your—"

"Oh, my God. Oh, God..." She was talking over him, nearly hyperventilating, and probably hadn't heard a word he said. "I could've been arrested—and I have to cheer tomorrow!" She cupped her forehead and waited until her breathing calmed down. "I almost blurted the wrong thing. If you hadn't grabbed my hand ... I've never had to deal with the police before!"

"Yeah, and if you quit tryin' to be somethin' you're not, you won't have to deal with 'em again." He gestured for the bag. "You can start by handing over the goods. Then you can go back to your car and drive home like none of this ever happened."

"No, I'm going with you."

"You're going with me," he said flatly. Their run-in with that cop should've made their little trip unnecessary.

"But if one inch of Daddy's Lincoln gets vandalized—"

"Then your ride'll be that much cooler."

"Hyde!" She swatted his shoulder, but he didn't wait for her. He headed down the street. Lampposts lit his way, each carving a bright hole in the night, and Jackie's shadow streaked ahead. It stopped in a few lampposts in front of him, posing as if the pavement were a stage. "Where are you taking me anyway?"

He cocked an eyebrow. She probably thought they were going on their first date. "Not the roller disco."


	2. Part II

**Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show _copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

**WELCOME TO HYDEVILLE**

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:  
><strong>HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG<strong>

Part II**  
><strong>

Houses grew smaller and more dilapidated the farther one got from The Hub. Hyde and Jackie were almost two miles away now. Lampposts flickered, and some didn't light at all. But taxpayers' money went only so far. It hadn't reached this part of Point Place yet. Another ten years, and maybe someone would change the light bulbs.

"Would you just tell me where we're going already?" Jackie said. That had been her litany, her mantra during the last forty minutes, but she never left his side. "And if you say, 'Reality Town' one more time..." Her threat fizzled out. "Your old neighborhood."

"Gold star for you."

He'd been irritable the whole walk, but her determination was admirable, if not insane. They were falling farther from her world. All she had to tell him was, "Get me out of here," and he'd pull the ripcord.

She grasped the sleeve of his denim jacket. "Why? Of all the places you could've brought me, why did take me to this one?"

"You 'just wanna be with me'? Well, this is me."

Her fingers closed around his hand. When he didn't take hold of hers, she released him. No one had held his hand through his experiences here. She'd get the same treatment.

Their ultimate destination was a few blocks down: the house where he'd grown up. By the looks of it—boarded-up front windows, no potted plants on the porch—it still hadn't been rented out. Maybe some of his crap remained inside, furniture or whatever else Edna had left behind.

He glanced up at the night sky, a cloudy violet, and reordered his thoughts. He'd spent too much time living with Forman. His delusional optimism was rubbing off. The neighborhood vultures must've picked the house clean by now. The boarded-up windows were a big hint.

"So," he said and opened his arms wide to his neighborhood, "what do ya think?"

Jackie had put the bag of pot into her purse, and she was buttoning up her denim jacket. The jacket, unlike his, had fancy gold accents and must've cost at least two-hundred bucks. "Well, it's—"

She screamed, loud enough to puncture eardrums and the night. Hyde winced, but her hands flew from her buttons and clutched his arm, shaking.

The familiar scrabbling of a rat scratched the pavement. He caught sight of its tail before it disappeared beneath his old porch.

"A—a—a—my boot!" she said, which was Jackie-speak for a rat ran over her foot.

"Welcome to Hydeville, baby." He patted her hands on his arm. "That's just for starters what you'd get with me."

"N—no. That's what you were forced to live with." She let him go, but her empathy held on tight, squeezing his throat. "It's not your fault you were born poor."

A burn tiptoed on his tongue, blaming her for being snobby and bossy and a square. But he planned to get rid of her through exposure, not insults. His burns weren't effective on her anyway. She either ignored them or took them as a rallying cry to _Be aggressive! B-E aggressive! _

He hopped onto the first step of his porch and waited for her to follow. If she didn't, he'd make her follow. Leaving space between them wasn't an option. This neighborhood was better than the trailer park on the outskirts of town ... but not by much.

He climbed another step and laughed silently, incredulously, when she joined him. She wasn't flinching, but she'd been here twice before. She hadn't flinched then, either.

The imaginary pressure on his throat increased. Maybe his judgment of her wasn't completely fair. _Mostly fair, _ was a damn nuisance, whether dating Kelso or not. But she also had guts and enough respect to meet his mom on prom night, which, of course, he hadn't let her do.

At the top of the porch, Jackie stared at the house's peeling paint. He did more than stare. He pulled a piece off the siding and said, "Jackie, you wanna hang around a nice guy. A Forman-like guy—"

She cast him a dirty look. "I do not. Eric's sweet and all. Well, sort of—_sometimes._ But he's not my type."

"Maybe not Forman himself, but he _is _your type, man. Someone who'll devote himself to you like Fez without all the handsy stuff. Someone who'll back down when he pisses you off. That's not me."

"Hy-_duh,_" his name was a groan on her lips, "for someone who's really smart, you can be as dumb as Michael."

"Hey, I got a B-average—

"I don't mean academically-smart." She began unbuttoning her denim jacket "Though I think if you applied yourself and actually paid attention in class, you'd have an A-average, like me."

Her jacket was open, and she swung her purse against her hip. She had to be feeling safer. Either that, or she didn't want to risk sweating. Even at night, the temperature would stay in the mid-sixties.

"Why don't you apply yourself?" she said. "You must have _some_ ambition beyond working at the Fotohut."

"Whatever." His hand slid into his jeans pocket. His torsion wrench and lock pick mingled there. He spun them around each other, just as Jackie's GPA spun around her popularity. She did her homework on Saturday nights, got As on her papers. He should've realized she was a hidden brain. A square squared.

"Do you remem—oh, God." She inched closer to him. Squeaks were issuing from the porch. A new colony of rats had probably moved in, kicking out the old colony from when he was a kid. "Do you remember," she said again, "when Michael begged me to take him back?"

He grinned. "It was hilarious." Kelso had cheated on Jackie for months and finally got what he deserved: rejection. "Can't pay for that kinda entertainment."

"He tried to charm me for a week afterward, but then he gave up. Worse than gave up. He paraded his mistress in front of me—_sicced_ her on me." Her fingers twisted in her purse strap, as if she were caught in the ghetto of her mind. "Michael's good at shouting, 'Burn!' at people but not good at actually coming up with burns."

"True enough."

"He let Laurie do it for him—" More squeaks rose from the porch, and she stomped her boot. "Shut up! I'm talking!"

"Careful. That might get 'em to scurry out and say, 'Hi,' up-close and personal."

"Ew!" She got onto her toes, did an anti-rat dance as she dived back into her rant. "So, someone who supposedly loves me cheats on me. Then he's remorseful for only a week. Unless..." She lowered back onto her heels. "Did he keep sleeping with Laurie? You know, when he tried to get me back?"

Hyde looked away, across the street at a thicket of bushes. "He cried a lot..."

"Hyde, please tell me."

"Yeah, he did."

Her voice tightened. "He didn't ever try to change, not even that week he wrote me a song?" She sighed, and her voice relaxed a bit. "So, someone who loves me treats me like dirt, and someone who supposedly hates me..."

She curled her fingers around his hand again, and he pulled free. His plan was backfiring, but he wouldn't allow it. His old house owed him, and he yanked on the screen door. It swung open without a fight. The lock had been broken off. Too bad the front door's were intact. They'd been changed.

Fortunately, he'd learned a valuable skill on that front door. Years ago, taught by his uncle Chet. Hyde carried it with him always, along with the tools his uncle had left him: his torsion wrench and lock pick.

He knelt by the doorknob and went to work. A few deep breaths brought the smell of rat urine and rot into his nose. A rat must've died beneath the porch, maybe gnawed on by its cousins.

"What are you doing?" Jackie said.

"Breakin' into my old place."

Inside, the house had to be a horror show. He was banking on it. Then Jackie would see she didn't belong with him. She'd run back to her cheer squad, kick back with the football team. Stay out of the basement.

She pointed at the doorknob. "What did you put in there?"

"Torsion wrench," he said. It was doing its job, keeping the keyhole in position. He slipped the lock pick in beside it. "This is its brother. They like to double-team." He pulled out the lock pick then put it back in, twice. "What's that, keyhole? You want it faster?"

"That's disgusting."

"So am I."

He considered pushing the analogy further, maybe adding in some feminine moans. But opening the lock would be dicey—raising the upper pins into their housings, having them land on a tiny precipice inside the keyhole. He listened for the first click, but the doorknob turned under its own power.

"Shit!" He yanked out the lock pick and scrambled to his feet, but the wrench was trapped in the keyhole. The door slammed open, and he blocked Jackie from whoever—whatever—was in the house.

"Hullo, Steven," said a voice he never expected to hear again. The greeting slithered through his ribs and sank poisonous fangs into his heart. "Remember me?"


	3. Part III

**Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show _copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

**WELCOME TO HYDEVILLE**

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:  
><strong>HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG<strong>

Part III**  
><strong>

Hyde stepped backward on the porch, pressing into Jackie slightly. He wanted her to climb down, to get as far from his old house as possible, but she didn't get the signal.

Standing in front of them was Shawny Gridders, Edna's former pot dealer and occasional fuck. He'd taken up residence in the house. A damn squatter. Used to be fat as hell, needed a few shoves to squeeze through the doorway. Now if he turned sideways, he'd disappear.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten me, Stevie-boy."

"Yeah, I remember," Hyde said, though selective amnesia would've been preferable. "Uncle" Shawny used to screw Edna right in front of him. Worse, he'd tried to get Hyde involved whenever Edna was too drunk to notice. "See ya around."

"Wait, wait, wait, Steven." Shawny darted down two porch steps and got behind Jackie. She shrieked when he grabbed her hips, his thin but strong fingers groping what didn't belong to him. Hyde reached for his bony arm, but she battered Shawny's wrists with her purse and escaped on her own. She dashed to the house's boarded-up window and shrieked again when she almost ran into it.

Shawny laughed hoarsely. "Meat's so fresh it's still squealing." Shadows flickered in the hollows of his cheeks, thanks to the unreliable lamppost light. He looked older than his age, past his thirties, but his eyes hadn't lost their predatory glint. "Your little piggy should've stayed home."

"Ooh!" She left the boarded-up window and marched toward him. "I am not a pig!"

Hyde grasped her hand and yanked her behind his back. The less Shawny saw of her, the better, but Shawny's laughter became coughs. He had to be on stuff stronger than he used to deal. It made him unpredictable, and Hyde had to play this situation just right.

"If not a piggy," Shawny said and pushed greasy, blond hair from his forehead, "then what is she?"

"Friend's kid sister," Hyde said, and at the sound of Jackie's voice he squeezed her hand. She had to keep her trap shut and let him handle this.

Shawny angled his head, attempting to peer around Hyde. "Thirteen, fourteen?"

Hyde changed his angle with Shawny's, keeping Jackie out of sight. "Twelve."

"Oh!" Jackie resisted Hyde's grip on her, and he tightened it. They were too close to the doorway. If Shawny got either of them inside the house, they were worse than dead.

"Shit," Shawny said, sniffling. "You're scrapin' the bottom of the barrel, ain't ya?"

"It's not what you think it is, man. Doin' a favor for her brother. Showin' her the old neighborhood. Y'know, _Scared Straight. _Crap like that.."

Shawny laughed again. His greasy hair fell into his face, and when he shoved it back, the blackness of his eyes became apparent. His pupils were dilated from drugs, from lust. "You should introduce her to the trailer park," he said then coughed. He hit his chest a few times. "Big Paul got outta jail."

Hyde pulled Jackie sideways at the mention of Big Paul and dragged her down the porch steps. Big Paul was a rapist, a local legend among Edna's old crowd. Been in prison as long as Hyde was alive, but Hyde had thought he was a myth. A monster conjured up to express sick fantasies and to keep kids from wandering the trailer park.

Shawny stayed where he was, on the porch's lowest step, but his gaze followed Hyde. "Yeah, Big Paul would have a grand old time with her. One look from him, and your little piggy won't leave the farm again."

"Hyde, who is this creep?" Jackie's head peeked from behind Hyde's back. Her palm was growing sweaty against his skin.

"'Creep'?" Shawny placed his hands over his heart. "You hurt me, piglet. You really do."

"I'll show you hurt!" Jackie squirmed out of Hyde's grip; sweat and indignation had made it possible. She bounded forward, but he hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her back. He held onto her wrist this time, tighter than maybe he should have, and forced her to stay behind him.

Shawny walked along the last step of the porch, "She's got spirit," and jumped off where Jackie stood.

Hyde whipped them around so that he was the one facing Shawny. "Her 'spirit' is off-limits, like the rest of her."

"Relax! What d'ya take me for? A pervert?" Shawny jutted his chin in Jackie's direction. "She on her period yet?"

"_You're_ the pig!" Jackie shouted.

Hyde had to get them out of here, but Shawny used to carry a gun, a nine millimeter strapped to his ankle. Hyde could toss Jackie over his shoulder and make a run for it—while Shawny riddled their bodies with bullets.

"You'll have to live with your curiosity, man." Hyde's tone was cool, but he barely heard himself speak. The throbbing in his ears was deafening. "Her curfew's about to hit, and I gotta get her back."

Shawny peered up at Hyde's old house. "Looks to me you had a different lesson in mind. She really twelve?" He stepped closer, and Hyde edged Jackie back. "Hey, ain't gonna do nothing but look at her."

Hyde had heard bullshit like that from him before. "She ain't mine. She's on loan, and she's gotta get back home in the same condition she's in now."

"That's it!" Jackie said, and a sharp pain plunged into Hyde's hand. She was biting him, and his fingers opened reflexively. She was free, and with more boldness than brains, she strode up to Shawny and jabbed a finger at his face. "Listen, you strung-out piece of trash, I'm fifteen and no one's property!"

She pulled out the paper bag from her purse and slammed it into his chest. "Now take this and leave us alone."

Shawny didn't acknowledge the bag. It fell to the pavement, and he grabbed her arms, his long fingers coiling below her elbows. "Sexy baby..." his tongue slithered from his mouth and licked his lips, "the things I'd do to you."

Jackie looked back at Hyde with wide, fearful eyes, like a bunny about to get eaten. His heart was pumping so fast that individual beats became impossible to discern, and his thoughts were just as quick. He ducked beneath Shawny's arms, rose up between them, and knocked them from Jackie's body. She staggered backward but not far enough.

"Jackie, go!" he shouted and shoved Shawny against a porch beam, a move he couldn't have done as a kid, when Shawny was big and fat and fucking his mom.

"Oh, but I think your little piggy wants to stay." Shawny's tongue wriggled between his lips, dancing like a cobra. "Don't you, baby?"

"Told you—" Hyde shoved Shawny into the beam again, "she's off-limits! Until you die, man. A day that'll come soon if you go anywhere near her."

Shawny's amusement evaporated, leaving only hard edges and glassy eyes. "You don't belong here anymore, Steven! You don't fucking belong—and anything you bring into this neighborhood is up for grabs!" Spit flew from his mouth and landed on Hyde's cheek. "You wanna get out of here alive? She's your ticket."

"Like hell—"

"Steven!" Jackie's voice broke through his adrenaline-fueled haze. "He has a—"

Something sharp slashed at his denim jacket, a box-cutter blade, and Hyde backed off. Shawny slashed at him again but missed Hyde's neck by a foot. His attacks were wild, imprecise, but they kept Hyde from advancing.

He had to wait for an opening, to use his last-resort defense. Shawny ran at him with the blade and a drug-induced yowl. Hyde dodged the attack and blocked Shawny's arm. The blade didn't drop, but Hyde swung his leg forward. His boot collided with Shawny's crotch, and Shawny fell in a heap, crumpled like a snake's shed skin. The blade was still clutched in his fingers, but Hyde stomped on his wrist.

Shawny groaned, and his fingers released their hold. The blade clattered to the ground, and Hyde kicked it through a hole in the porch steps. He considered kicking Shawny under there, too. It was where the bastard belonged, living with rats.

Hyde glanced up at his old house. Nothing he valued was left inside, except his torsion wrench, which stuck out of the doorknob. He could've retrieved it, but he wasted no time getting back to Jackie.

"Steven," she said when he took her hand, "did he get you—cut you?"

He didn't answer, not until they high-tailed it out of the neighborhood. They sped past the ramshackle houses, past the busted and blinking lampposts to a well-lit, middle-class area. The scent of freshly-cut grass saturated the air. They'd stopped to catch their breath by a fenced-in backyard, and Hyde said, "Bastard got my jacket, not my skin."

Jackie found the rip in the denim. She touched it with a steady hand but spoke with an unsteady voice: "You protected me."

"Bullshit!" He twisted away, tearing the jacket from her. "I'm the one who put you in danger. Why the hell can't you see that?"

A beagle, half-asleep in the yard, lifted its head. It yawned, apparently finding their conversation boring, and put its head back down on its paws.

"You're the one whose eyes don't work." She gestured to his shades. "Maybe if you took those off, you'd finally see me—and yourself."

"Whatever." He started walking again, a fast pace, but she matched him step-for-step. "I'm takin' you to your car, man, and that's it. You're gonna wave your little pom-poms tomorrow and forget I exist. 'Cause you and me, we're never gonna be friends."

She had no response, no comeback. Even her breathing was swallowed by the night, leaving nothing between them but the sound of their boots hitting pavement.


	4. Part IV

**Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show _copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

**WELCOME TO HYDEVILLE**

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:  
><strong>HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG<strong>

Part IV**  
><strong>

Hyde parked Jackie's Lincoln inside a high double gate. They'd reached the Burkharts' property, after what seemed an interminable drive. He left the key in the ignition and opened the driver-side door, but Jackie clasped his shoulder. "Thank you for driving me home."

"You blackmailed me," he said and exited the car. She'd refused to drive herself, claiming she was too anxious. They'd gotten to The Hub's parking lot without a word. Her Lincoln was as pristine as they'd left it; someone like him hadn't popped the tires. But then she piped up with a quavering voice, and he was screwed. His hand snatched the keys, and he was behind the wheel.

Hyde shielded his eyes as the passenger-side door opened. His shades were off, and the Burkharts' porch lights shone in the distance. A gravel driveway encircled the mansion like a moat, but the only alligator here was Jackie.

Her family was wealthier than he could ever dream to be. His place in the world had been slotted at fertilization, the moment Bud Hyde's sperm broke into Edna Dunbar's egg. Not that he aspired to be rich. Staying not-dead and out of prison would be enough.

"Oh, I did not blackmail you," Jackie said as gravel crunched under her boots. "Extortion is for people who need money, and I have more than—"

She stopped herself, maybe before giving him a needless reminder he was poor. He was born into a lower-class family. Would probably always be lower-class. People like him were too rebellious to follow society's dictates and too soft-hearted to be truly criminal, relegated to living on the fringes. Digging one lousy burrow after another.

"Emotional blackmail," he said, gazing at the porch lights.

"How? Because I knew you wouldn't leave me in the parking lot?"

His jaw clenched. Her Easy-Bake Oven head was impenetrable. He'd taken refuge in their non-conversational walk to The Hub. Assumed it was a sign he'd gotten through to her, but she'd merely used it to regroup.

"You think you hate me," she said, standing close enough for their arms to touch, "but if you did, I'd be in that old house of yours with—"

"Don't." He looked at her, tried to look _into_ her, to transmit what he wouldn't speak. She beat him to it. Shawny's intentions played out in her large brown eyes. "Never woulda let that happen," he said, "no matter how I feel about you."

"Just like you didn't let Laurie tear me to shreds. Just like you comforted me after Michael broke my heart." She jabbed the center of his chest. "Do you even pay attention to what's in there?" She jabbed him again. "Do you?"

"Quit it." He swept her hand away and shuffled backward, and his butt bumped into a stone pedestal. Over two-dozen of the pedestals were placed along the driveway, adding to the property's castle-like atmosphere. Soft light emanated from them, a glow that would've attracted moths in his old neighborhood.

Was that what he was to Jackie, a misguiding light? If she flew too close, he'd burn her up.

Her gaze was lingering on his chest. He resisted the urge to rub where she'd poked him. "There's nothin' there to pay attention to," he said.

She smirked, another expression she'd swiped from him. "Mm-hmm. That's why you haven't left yet."

"Gonna rectify that right now."

He turned toward the metal gate, but her voice followed him: "You can try to ignore me, Steven Hyde! You can say that I'm a square and uncool and whatever else makes you feel better, but I'm not stupid, okay? I know when a boy likes me!"

"Like you?" He could've escaped. The gate was within reach, but his legs brought him back to her. "Man, I can barely stand to look at you, so you can cut out your girly fantasy crap."

"Fantasy?" She slammed her purse on the hood of the Lincoln. "Is it fantasy that you've made me feel better than Michael ever has? Yes, Michael's gorgeous, but he's a horrible, selfish person."

"So am I."

"No." She reached for his face and managed to cup his cheek. "You're scruffy but handsome," she said, stroking his sideburn with her thumb. "Generous. And a _wonderful_ person."

"No, I'm not!" He pried her hand off him and stumbled back. Her touch was diseased, deadly. "Jackie, I'm shit, all right? You saw where I come from. That's all I got—and all you'd get from me."

She patted her heart. "You've already given me more than Michael ever has. You taught me how to protect myself from burns. Told me I deserve better than a cheater. Did everything you could to save me from that gross hophead, even though your lies could use work."

A breeze swept through her hair. Tendrils not tucked into her pony tail whipped at her forehead. Hyde's fingers twitched, reacting to a stray thought. He'd tucked her hair behind her ear once, frantically. He had no desire to do it ever again, calmly or otherwise.

"Telling him I'm twelve?" Her hands were on her hips, and she tilted her head. "Really?"

"Had my reasons," he said. Shawny was a reptile, but prepubescent kids were too innocent even for him … not that it had stopped him from going after Hyde. "Yeah, my lies could use work."

"Well, I can teach you. I'm a fantastic liar." She grinned with a cute crinkle to her eyes, and his spine straightened. _Cute? _Nothing about Jackie Burkhart was_ cute._ She'd infected him. Those two seconds she'd touched his cheek, a parasitic exchange must've taken place.

He opened his arms wide, like he'd done in his old neighborhood, presenting her own property to her. "This is where you belong, man—and where I'm gonna leave you." But as he moved toward the gate again, something bit into his left foot. "Crap." He plunked down onto the driveway and pulled off his boot. A piece of gravel had gotten stuck in there. "How the hell...?"

"I know," she said. "It gets in my boots, too, unless I tuck my jeans into them."

"Freakin' impossible," but the metaphor wasn't lost on him. Taking a rich man's gravel home in his shoe was the most he could aspire to. "Stop starin' at me," he said when Jackie stepped closer. "Go already."

She didn't listen but sat two feet away from him. Gravel shifted under her butt. "You're not shit."

"Jackie, get in your car, drive into your garage, and get the fuck outta my sight."

"Despite your nasty attitude, you are _so_ wrong about yourself. But you're right about something. We'll never be friends because..." her hand landed on his right boot, "I love you, Steven Hyde."

He scrambled to his feet, and gravel flew around her, displaced by his ungraceful movements. His left boot was only partially back on. He shoved his foot into it, slamming his heel into the driveway and kicking up more gravel. "You're nuts. A certifiable headcase."

"Maybe," she said and stood up, "but at least I know how I feel. And what I feel for you is love."

He would've laughed if his guts weren't twisting inside-out. "You shouldn't use that word so easily, man. It'll just screw you over in the end."

She nodded, but she couldn't possibly understand. "After Michael, I promised myself never to say it to another boy unless he earned it. You have."

"You've gotten into a hero-worship rut," he said. "That's all it is. The second one of those rich jocks asks you out, you'll be lovin' him, too."

"Do you really think so little of me?"

"You dated Kelso for over a year. Screams volumes."

She jutted out her chin defiantly. Her face seemed to be growing red, but he couldn't be sure. The pedestal lighting wasn't all that revealing. "Yes," she said, "and that experience taught me a lot. I've told you that. And you wouldn't still be here, arguing with me, if you didn't care. If you didn't feel _something _for me beyond indifference or hate."

She had him there. All his attempts at leaving had failed. What was he trying to accomplish? Convincing her to give up on him—or himself to give up on her?

"I don't love you," he said.

"But you like me."

"I don't love you."

She grinned again with that crinkle in her eyes. "But you _like me—_"

He shrugged, even as an unwanted sensation buzzed in his chest. He didn't like her, _couldn't_ like her. Her fate was to rule a kingdom while his was to steal from her coffers.

"_—_enough to go on a date with me," she said and tugged on the rip in his jacket. He didn't stop her. "Because I went on your tour of Hydeville so you could show me your true self."

"Yeah, which worked out spectacularly."

"It did. And you owe me the chance to show you _my_ true self."

"If roller-disco or any kind of disco is involved, you can forget it." He flinched. What the hell was he saying? He wasn't going on a date with unicorn-obsessed Jackie Burkhart. "What I mean is, you can forget it altogether."

She grasped his hand for the dozenth time tonight. And for the dozenth time, he should've pulled free, but the buzz in his chest turned into heat. "You owe me," she said. "I've got that skeevy, strung-out guy's tongue stuck in my memory thanks to you. He called me a pig. Me!"

Her grip tightened, and his brain commanded his hand to break free. His hand didn't listen. It stayed put as Jackie blathered on. "The date I'm planning? You're going to enjoy it as much as I hate where you brought me today."

"Whatever," he said with a heavy sigh, but he did owe her. One night, one date.

"I'll pick you up at seven, day after tomorrow."

"Whatever."

She jostled his hand. "You're agreeing to this, right?"

"I'm doin' an experiment in masochism, so … yeah."

"Great!" She released him, and the night air cooled his skin. She snatched her purse from the hood of the Lincoln, opened the driver-side door. "By the way, if you try to cop out—if I show up at the Formans', and you just happen to be missing?—I'll tell my father where you took me tonight. He won't be happy. And, trust me, you _don't_ want him unhappy with you."

Her body slid halfway into the car. He thought they were done, but she glanced back at him. "And _that, _Steven, is blackmail."


	5. Part V

**Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show _copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

**WELCOME TO HYDEVILLE**

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:  
><strong>HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG<strong>

Part V**  
><strong>

Hyde sat alone, high up in the bleachers of Viking Stadium. The last day of school meant the last-day-of-school rally. The cheer squad was out on the field. Each chick wore the school's colors, green and white. They shouted silly chants, shook glittering pom-poms, and tossed one another into the air.

Then Jackie was thrown into the air.

Her legs spread out in a wide V. She landed in the safety of the squad's arms, and Hyde finally understood Kelso's infatuation. Her athleticism and flexibility were impressive, but Hyde didn't find them intriguing. Other attributes, subtler, had begun to mesmerize him … to the point of aggravation.

He'd already slept with a fourth of the cheer squad, thanks to Kat Peterson's gossip. Hot, rich girls liked slumming it, as long as the screw was good. And as long as no actual slums were involved. Had he brought those cheerleaders to his old neighborhood, they would've bolted faster than they could chant, "Get me out of here! G-E-T me out of here!"

Not Jackie, though. She went along willingly, let him lead her into a snake pit. She'd stared a hungry cobra in the eyes, stayed by Hyde's side while he fought it, and had more respect for Hyde afterward than he did for himself.

Applause filled the stadium while trumpets played wobbly, not-quite-in-tune notes. The school band was marching onto the field, and the cheer squad continued to perform, keeping Jackie busy. Hyde could've sparked up a joint where he was, alone and out of sight. No one would be looking for him at this lame-as-hell rally.

His hand fumbled with his lighter, but he didn't take it from his pocket. He'd come here to celebrate summer his way, smoking out in the open. That was what he'd told himself, but the truth was pushing through his cracks, growing like dandelions in sidewalk seams. And the truth smelled like Jackie.

He'd kept his opinion of her in a tiny box, refusing to see beyond his first, second, and third impressions. But she defied pigeon-holing. With Kelso, she was bossy and condescending. But with Hyde her bossiness became determination. Her condescension, compassion. He'd been the condescending one, doing to her what he resented people doing to him.

The cheer squad's current routine ended with the squad shaking its pom-poms. Jackie took the lead on the next one, but with the band marching, the routine was hard to see. Hyde stood up on the bleachers for a better view, and that unwelcome buzz irritated his chest.

"Sign my yearbook?" The field vanished, replaced by a green-and-white yearbook cover. _Forman. _If the culprit had been anyone else, that yearbook would've been chucked behind the bleachers."And if you'd be so kind," Forman said, "tell me what the hell is going on with Jackie."

Hyde pushed the yearbook away and sat back down. "How the hell should I know what's goin' on with her?"

"Because she's in my math class, and—"

"She's in Precalc?"

"Yeah, and—"

"Fuck. She _is _a brain." Hyde's attention returned to the field, to what he could glimpse of Jackie. She was a sophomore in Precalculus; how'd he miss that little fact about her? Kelso had no clue how smart she was, so he never talked about it. Forman mainly complained about her in the circle, and those were usually incoherent rambles. Plus, one of Hyde's daily goals was to shut Jackie out. Any relevant information she might've shared, he wouldn't have absorbed.

Forman's thin fingers waved in front of Hyde's face. "Anyone ever tell ya your hands look like spiders?" Hyde said.

"No," Forman said, "but thank you for giving me another thing to be afraid of." He stared at his hands then shook his head. "Back to Jackie. She was all over me while Mr. Fletcher handed out our final exams. I got an A-minus, by the way—"

Hyde quirked up an eyebrow."_All-over-you_ how?"

"Oh, God." Forman winced and stuck out his tongue. "Not like _that. _She was asking me—well, more like interrogating me—about you. 'What's Steven's favorite thing to do on the weekends?' 'Where does Steven usually bring girls on dates?' 'What does Steven buy himself with his paycheck?'

"Man, she's callin' me 'Steven' outside the circle now?" Hyde had hoped it was a fluke, borne of nerves.

"_That's _all you took from what I said? She's building a file on you! It's supposedly for a play she's writing. She'll be in English Honors next year and wants to get a 'head start'."

"What'd you tell her?"

"I tried not to tell her anything..." Forman's yearbook was on his lap, and he drummed his fingers on its hard cover, "but you know Jackie. She wouldn't leave me alone until I gave her what she wanted. So I said you like to drink beer, take girls up to the lake, and buy yourself beer."

Hyde leaned his head back. The sky was a clear blue, not a cloud in it, but clouds crowded his skull. "Great, Forman. So she thinks I'm an alcoholic."

"Well, you kind of are. Have you looked under your cot lately? I think the empty beer cans you stashed there have formed a society."

Hyde glowered at him, but Jackie's voice rang through his mind: _"Hyde, no offense, but with an alcoholic mom and an absent dad, you were bound to end up in jail sooner or later."_ She'd said it to him last year, on Halloween, and his self-delusion about the empty beer cans fell apart.

He shoved his palms against his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Caring what Jackie thought of him … this was new. She didn't know Bud was an alcoholic, too. That Hyde had two strikes against him and was slowly painting a third X over his life. "Actually, that's good, Forman," he said. "You did good."

"I did?"

"Yeah." He patted Forman's shoulder then pushed off it. He was on his feet and headed for the stadium stairs. His attempts at scaring Jackie away had been unsuccessful, but maybe success was still within reach.

* * *

><p>"Hyde, you have to protect me!" Fez said. He'd accosted Hyde on his way out of the stadium, clutching his arm.<p>

"From who?" Hyde glanced at the field, where members of the football team were showing off their touchdown dances. "The jocks?"

"No, from Jackie!"

Fez got behind him and tried to hide under Hyde's shirt. Hyde jumped away and checked over the shirt's hem. "Man, had this since the eighth grade. Better not have stretched it out."

"Fine, if you won't let Led Zeppelin conceal me, then I will tell Jackie everything she wants to know."

"You tell _me_ everything _I _wanna know, and I'll get you outta here." Hyde gestured down the stadium stairs. An exit was nearby, but so were enthusiastic rally attendees. Guys roared their support for the Vikings while girls offered high-pitched screams. "What's Jackie after?"

"You," Fez said. "She—she asked me what you and I talk about when we're alone. What kinds of movies we go to. I think she thinks you and I are dating."

Hyde exhaled loudly. Jackie was working hard to come up with a perfect date for them, but the perfect date would be no date at all. "Yeah, she doesn't think that," he said. "So what'd you say?"

"Uh..." Fez's eyes flicked away from him. "I said we talk about..."

"Don't say bleachers."

"Bleachers."

Hyde grasped the sides of Fez's face and forced Fez to look at him. "What did you _actually _say?"

"I told her we talk about masturbation," Fez said between Hyde's hands. "Like how much is too much, how to keep it interesting—"

Hyde released Fez's cheeks with a little shove. "I never tell you 'how to keep it interesting'."

"Ai … I know, but I panicked. I told her what I ask you about. You should've seen her eyes, Hyde. I've never felt so violated."

"Okay."

"It was like—it was like she was trying to peel back the layers of my brain."

Hyde understood the look. He'd experienced it himself last night. "Let's get outta here," he said and took the lead toward the exit.

"Yes, but—but I also told her you like action movies with car chases and explosions."

"Super."

They entered the exit's dark tunnel, but Fez tapped Hyde's back. "And that you read political history books."

"Uh-huh."

"And _Playboy._"

"Who doesn't?" Hyde said, but the idea of Jackie knowing about that soured his stomach.

"And that you prefer the pictures of blonds with big boobs."

Hyde stopped walking, and Fez bumped into back. "How do you know that?" Hyde said.

"You dog-eared the pages."

"So you sneak into my room and read my nudie mags?"

"Who doesn't?" Fez said, and Hyde resumed walking, faster this time. He had to get out of this tunnel, out of this stadium. His proximity to Jackie was altering his brain waves. Blonds with giant racks were his type, the chicks he usually ended up fucking. They tended to blend into one another—not much to say, eager to screw—and they rarely got attached. Not that all blonds fit the mold, but the ones he chose did.

And Jackie didn't fit the mold at all.

Fez sped up his pace, almost to a run. "She wants to know more, Hyde. She said she's writing a paper on foster children, but I don't understand why she doesn't ask me questions about _me._"

"Maybe 'cause you already tell her everything about yourself."

"Yes, but I'm a foreign-exchange student from a distant land. That's a more fascinating topic than foster children, isn't it?"

"Sure." Hyde tried to stay annoyed, but a few chuckles escaped him. Jackie had played her sources of information expertly. She must've told Fez the paper was for her English Honors, too.

They reached the end of the tunnel, and sunlight hit Hyde's eyes. He squinted as his amusement faded. He was dealing with someone who was more than smart. She was devious, and that made her more dangerous.

* * *

><p>Kelso slammed his yearbook onto the spool table. The basement seemed to rattle with the force, and he pointed to the open page. "Look at how many phone numbers I got at the rally!"<p>

Hyde angled his neck slightly but didn't move from his chair. "So?"

"So? It means I'm gonna do it with hot chicks all summer!"

"What about Laurie?"

"And Laurie."

Hyde propped his leg on the spool table, on top of Kelso's yearbook. "What about _Jackie?_"

"If Jackie were into it, yeah, but she's not that kind of girl." Kelso slapped Hyde's boot, but Hyde didn't move it. "_Man, _I wish she were. Then she never woulda broken up with me." Kelso tugged on the yearbook, trying to dislodge it with no success. "Come on, Hyde."

Hyde kept his boot where it was. "How're you gonna feel, man, when she starts datin' other guys?"

"Oh, she's not gonna date other guys."

"Okay, when she starts datin' other chicks."

Kelso laughed then stopped, as if his mind had processed Hyde's meaning. "Naw, she's not gonna date anybody."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"Why's that?"

"Because I don't want her to." Kelso gave his yearbook a yank. It came free of Hyde's boot but not without a sacrifice. One of the pages ripped off. "Damn it! Look at what you did!"

"Hey, I'm just sitting here."

Kelso said nothing and tucked the yearbook under his arm. Then he went to the shelves beneath the basement stairs. "Eric's gotta have some tape here somewhere—got it." He brought a roll of Scotch tape back with him, but the torn-off page was still trapped under Hyde's boot. "Hyde?"

"So as long as Jackie lives," Hyde said, "she can't date anyone."

"Nope. It's in the rules."

"What rules?"

"The Breakup Rules. _God._" Kelso slapped Hyde's boot again, achieving the same non-result. "Fine." His hand slipped into the cuff of Hyde's jeans. He was going for the boot laces, and Hyde finally withdrew his leg. "Thank you."

Kelso placed the torn page in the yearbook. "Look, you've never had a real girlfriend," he said and broke off a short piece of tape, "so you don't how it is. But, trust me, you wouldn't want your ex-girlfriend going out with anyone either. That's why the rule exists."

Hyde did his best to stay calm. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his fingers dug into his biceps. But he wanted nothing more than to smash his fist into Kelso's arm. "So you can fuck whoever you want, and Jackie's gotta become a nun."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Good to know."

"Anytime, buddy." Kelso pulled a longer piece of tape from the roll, maybe too long because it stuck to itself. "Damn." He tried breaking it off, but then it stuck to the side of his hand, too.

"Use your teeth," Hyde said.

"Right." Kelso did as Hyde suggested and severed the tape from the roll.

"Okay, see what you just did?"

"What about it?"

"Jackie's done that to you."

Kelso stared at Hyde dumbly. "Huh?"

"She's gonna date who she wants, when she wants."

"N'uh-uh. I won't let her."

Hyde uncrossed his arms and leaned forward in the chair. "How're you gonna do that?"

"I'll—I'll—" Kelso managed to get another piece of tape stuck to him, this time to his wrist. He pulled it off. "I'll spy on her dates. Sabotage them."

"Won't leave much time for you to nail those other girls."

"Yeah, but Jackie can't date anyone else. She's mine."

Hyde clutched his knees. A speech on women's rights mushroomed in his throat, something Donna would be proud of, but he used language Kelso could understand. "And you're not hers, right? 'Cause that's 'how it works'. Got news for ya, man: that ain't how it works."

Kelso was halfway through reattaching the yearbook page. He smoothed another piece of tape over it and said, "Of course it does."

"Nope." Hyde got off the chair. He sat next to Kelso on the couch, and his arm slipped around Kelso's shoulders. "'Cause whenever she does start goin' out with other people—whether it's a jock from the football team, a nerd in her honors classes, or even Fez—I'll make sure you're not around to interfere."

"Y—you will?"

"Consider me her force field."

Kelso's eyes widened, and he squirmed beneath Hyde's arm. "Why? What're you getting out of it? You hate Jackie."

"I hate hypocrites more." To emphasize his point, Hyde squeezed Kelso's shoulders. "And you, man, are a big fat one."

"I am not _fat!_"

Hyde released him and stood up. "You had your chance, made your choice. You could've been a man and broken up with her, but you strung her along while screwin' Laurie on the side—"

"And a girl from Sacred Heart." Kelso was smiling, and Hyde slammed his fist into Kelso's arm. "Ow!"

"Don't expect you to get it," Hyde said, "but you are gonna start respectin' her. Enough to stay outta her way."

"If she respects me enough not to date other guys, sure!" Kelso rubbed his arm. "She owes me that for all the sweet loving I gave her."

Jackie owed Kelso shit, but Hyde saved his breath. _Beloved Moron and Hypocrite _would probably adorn Kelso's tombstone. He'd keep the Kelso-family tradition going as long as he lived, but their conversation hadn't been a total waste. Kelso's attitude had turned Hyde's ambivalence into certainty. He'd go out with Jackie tomorrow with a semblance of enthusiasm, if only to teach Kelso a lesson.


	6. Part VI

**Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show _copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

**WELCOME TO JACKIEVILLE**

or

ONE DIFFERENCE:  
><strong>HYDE DOESN'T TOSS JACKIE'S BAG<strong>

Part VI

Hyde's breakfast of Cocoa Puffs and coffee wouldn't sustain him for long. He hadn't woken up in time for Mrs. Forman's cooking, a typical Saturday morning. His shift at the Fotohut started in an hour, but he'd made himself a sandwich last night. It was thick with ham and Swiss cheese and wrapped in tinfoil, and he checked the fridge to make sure no one had pilfered it.

"What do you prefer a girl wearing," a familiar voice said behind him, "a girl you might..." paper rustled, and Donna's voice flattened, "a girl you might possibly be attracted to?"

Hyde's sandwich was where he'd left it, safe and uneaten. He closed the fridge and turned around. Donna had a creased piece of notebook paper in her hands. She was slightly red-faced, and her stance was hunched, like she wanted to disappear into the kitchen floor.

"Mornin'," he said and returned to the breakfast table. He still had some coffee left, and he drank it up. "Tell Jackie to wear whatever she wants."

Donna sat across from him. Then she read off her paper in a monotone. "'These questions aren't from Jackie. They are purely from my own curiosity.'"

"Man." He laughed. "What's she got on you?"

"Guilt." Donna flattened the paper on the table. "I didn't try to stop Jackie from sleeping with Kelso, even though I knew about him and Laurie. I also knew he never uses a condom, and Jackie had to get a blood test because Laurie's so … 'free with her body,' I'll call it." She pulled a pen from her jeans pocket and took off the cap. "I owe her."

"Lot of that goin' around."

"Is that why you're going on a date with her tonight?"

"Yup."

"Oh, God, she's like a mob boss." Donna inhaled a deep breath and bit her upper lip. "Sorry about this, but..." her pen hovered over the paper, "what do you want her to wear?"

"Told you, she can wear what she wants." If Jackie catered to Hyde's whims, then she wouldn't be showing him her "true self," the point of their damn date. It was too big a loophole, one she'd use to harangue him into a second date. "You tell Forman 'bout any of this?"

"Hell no! He'd think he'd been sucked into a parallel universe or something."

"Good thing he's down in the basement, eating Fruity Pebbles and watching _The Flintstones._"

"He's such a kid." She shook her head, chuckling. "Anyway..." She wrote down what had to be Hyde's last answer then read off the next question. "'What kind of scents do you like? Citrus? Floral? Woodsy? Or hippie patchouli?'"

Hyde absently clanked his spoon against his cereal bowl. "Shit, I don't care, all right?

"Hey, I'm just the messenger here."

"Sorry." He dropped the spoon into the bowl. "Put down, 'He doesn't give a crap,' to all her questions. Or, if you wanna be simpler, 'Whatever'."

"Got it." She began writing. Then she said, "Oh, and she's going to pick you up an hour earlier."

"No-can-do. Shift at the Fotohut doesn't end 'til six."

"She knows, and she'll pick you up there."

He swallowed a grunt and carried his mug and cereal bowl to the sink. An eight-hour shift in the cramped Fotohut meant sweat. He'd have to bring a change of clothes—although him stinking would probably end Jackie's crush. _Huh. _Why hadn't he thought of that before? He just needed to quit showering, brushing his teeth, and ignore basic hygiene.

"Are you seriously going through with this?" Donna said. "I mean, your excursion to the 'dangerous, drug-riddled slums' of Point Place is a total exaggeration, right?"

"Point Place doesn't have a slum." He turned on the faucet with too much force. Hot water coursed out and splashed onto his nightshirt. "Damn it!" Had Jackie confided everything in Donna? Would she confide everything that might happen tonight? He flinched at the idea. _Nothing _would happen. He was going to stink and have cheese stuck in his teeth and be as unappealing as possible.

Donna laughed once. "Thought so. She loves hyperbole almost as much as she loves herself."

"You got any clue where Jackie's takin' me?" He squeezed liquid soap into the cereal bowl. "You know, so I can plan an escape route."

"No, but she did tell me the places she's ruled out, including Kenosha strip clubs and anywhere that serves alcohol."

"So all the fun places.

"And did you know she's calling you 'Steven' outside the circle now?"

He sighed. "Yeah."

"You have to put an end to this, Hyde. Tonight."

"She can call me Steven."

"No," Donna said. "I mean, Jackie's infatuation with you. It's becoming a little crazy."

Hyde scrubbed the bowl hard. He was becoming infatuated with Jackie, too. Badly enough that part of him was looking forward to their date. Watching her with Shawny the other night had kicked the _Jackie _virus into overdrive. It was multiplying faster than his immune system could create antibodies.

"I'll take care of her," he said, and Donna cleared her throat. "_It_. I'll take care of it."

"You better, or she'll follow you around like a puppy-dog all summer."

* * *

><p>The bathroom at Fatso Burger could've been cleaner. The tiles had stains Hyde refused to identify, but he'd gotten ready for his date in record time, left the Fotohut as soon as Leo arrived. On Saturdays they worked Hyde's last hour together, but Leo was fifty minutes late. That gave Hyde an excuse to leave ten minutes early.<p>

Fotohuts had no bathrooms, which was why he'd gone across the street. At five-past-six, he walked out of the burger joint with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Jackie's Lincoln was waiting for him, parked near the Fotohut. Jackie herself was out of the car. She had on a pair of pink corduroy pants and a white T-shirt. Her hair was down with the ends curled, and her makeup was minimal.

"Casual looks good on you," he said then pressed his lips together. He ran his treacherous tongue over his teeth. They tasted like peppermint, like his toothpaste, and needed to be knocked out.

"Everything looks good on me, but thank you." She gestured at him. "I didn't know you owned a shirt with buttons."

She should have. He'd worn the same shirt to Bob and Midge's vow renewal, but Jackie hadn't paid any attention to him then. And he'd been too busy working through her cheer squad to care.

"You look so classy," she said, but the timbre of her voice gave her away. _Classy _was a euphemism for _foxy _or _hot. _She was digging his appearance, and the sensation plaguing his chest buzzed lower than it belonged.

"Yeah," he said and scratched the back of his head. He was scratching hard enough to draw blood, but his curls acted like a shield. "A tucked-in shirt can make even a rat look like nobility. How do you think King George the Third got crowned?"

"By being King George the Second's grandson." She dangled the Lincoln's keys in front of his face." "You're driving."

"I don't even know where we're goin'. How am I driving?"

She answered by closing his hand around the keys and getting into the front passenger seat.

"Guess I'm driving." He tossed his backpack onto the backseat and glided behind the steering wheel. "Is this the date?" he said. "Me chauffeuring you around Point Place?"

"I'd be sitting in the back for that," she said and a road map fell onto his lap. "Have you ever driven to Milwaukee?"

"Nope."

"According to Daddy's chauffeur, it's basically north on I-94 West. He wrote out directions." She passed Hyde a piece of notebook paper. He read over the directions and compared them to the map. "Frederick—the chauffeur—said it should take less than an hour."

"Doesn't matter. I'm not drivin' us to Milwaukee."

She frowned, and his chest hurt. It shouldn't have, but it did. "But that's where the Rolling Stones are playing," she said.

The ache in his chest became a vibration, wholly different than the buzz. This one was musical, like a guitar string had been plucked. "Yeah," he said, "they've got a sold-out show at MECCA Arena."

"Daddy received a pair of tickets from a business associate. They were in his desk drawer, untouched, and he's in Chicago on business. He said I could have them, so..." She produced an envelope from her purse, and Hyde's palms began to sweat. "Here."

He held onto the envelope and pulled out the tickets, but he put them back quickly. His sweaty hands would smear the ink. "You better hold onto these." He gave back the envelope and wiped his palms on his jeans. "Never thought I'd see the Stones play in concert..." His lungs had trouble taking in air, and he said a breathless, "Thanks."

"See?" She patted his leg and smiled with that endearing crinkle of her eyes. "I told you I'd bring you somewhere you'd love."

He grinned back and tapped the underside of her chin. Then he turned to the steering wheel, and his back stiffened. The tip of his finger was buzzing. He'd touched Jackie's face. Where had that move come from? His hands were betraying him, too, expressing affection he couldn't possibly be feeling.

_Just drive, _he told himself. They were going to a Stones concert, and he had to make sure they didn't get lost on their way.

* * *

><p>Hyde and Jackie's seats were low in the wings. They had a great view of the MECCA Arena, of the thousands of people surrounding them. The energy of the place was both intoxicating and easy to block out. All he had to do was focus on Jackie or the Rolling Stones, and everyone else vanished.<p>

Front-row seats would've been cooler, but Jackie's dad probably had a policy against being on the floor. A rich, high-society type like him would never stand elbow-to-elbow with sweaty, screaming Stones fans. Being in the wings meant personal space, but Hyde and Jackie still saw plenty. Mick Jagger's pursed lips were distinguishable on his face, as were the droopy eyes on Keith Richards's. But Hyde was happy just to be in the building.

The smooth riff of "Beast of Burden" flowed and ebbed against his ears, and the sweet smell of pot swirled in his nostrils. People were smoking up all around him. Some had offered him hits, but the last time he'd driven high resulted in a cracked headlight. That car had been borrowed. Debt was paid off, but Jackie's skull couldn't be replaced like a headlight.

His gaze drifted to the crowd behind the stage, but it faded from his consciousness. Not long ago, he would've paid to replace the contents of Jackie's head. Now, though, he felt like an explorer. Spelunking in the caverns of her mind, eager to push deeper.

Before getting to their seats, they'd stood in the merchandise line. He'd bought himself a Rolling Stones shirt and changed into it. Wearing a dress shirt with buttons at a concert? Not happening, but Jackie hadn't been pleased with the switch. She scoffed at the Stones' tongue logo, but then she said, "Do they have smaller sizes?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Because I'm getting one, too."

She got back in the line, and he said, "When in Rome, huh?"

"No."

Her answer made him curious, so he joined her in the line. By the time they got to the merch booth again, his money was out. He paid for her shirt despite her protestations.

"Steven, you didn't have to do that," she said and slipped the black shirt over her white one.

"And you don't have to wear that, but you are."

He led them toward their gate, his eyes periodically flicking in her direction. She'd seemed nervous earlier, clinging to his arm when they entered the arena. But as they walked the tunnel, her stride was confident, even sprightly. Her spine was straight, her arms pumped with each step, and her head bopped to a tune only she heard.

"What's gotten into you?" he said.

"A better memory." She patted the Rolling Stones logo on her chest. "This is a much better tongue to think about than that hophead's."

He arched up an eyebrow and allowed himself a smile.

He was smiling now.

He'd been doing that a lot tonight, letting joy show on his face. His cheeks were beginning to hurt, and he felt somewhat foolish. But the Rolling Stones were playing in the same room as him—currently, the song "Shattered". He was memorizing the setlist, though he doubted he'd forget this night. Bill Wyman's bassline bounced against his chest, and Jackie's hip bounced against his leg. She was dancing, mouthing the lyrics, and his smile transformed into quiet laughter.

He'd expected her to be bored, a total square. Jawing his ear off about her favorite topic: herself. But she wasn't. She was being completely and utterly … cool.

The band left the stage after "Jumpin' Jack Flash," but the house lights didn't come up. The crowd was getting an encore, a rare gift from the Stones. Hyde and Jackie sat down in their seats. Their bodies were damp with sweat, and their voices were hoarse from eighteen songs of singing and cheering.

"This is—this is the best date I've ever been on," Jackie said, out of breath.

"Diggin' the Stones, huh?" He nodded at her proudly. "You've done well, Grasshopper. Finally learned to appreciate good music."

"No—I mean, yeah, the music's nice—"

"'Nice'?"

"—but being with you, I didn't know boys could do that."

He squinted at her. "Do what?"

"Have fun without trying to feel a girl up." Her hands combed through her damp hair. "You danced with me—"

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. That was you I shook my shoulders with, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but—"

"And you sang with me. Steven, you were _with _me." She wiped a drop of sweat from her cheek, or maybe it was a tear. "I'm not used to that. The only time Michael really focused on me was when he wanted sex. He listened when he thought it would lead between my legs—sorry." Her gaze dropped to the floor, which was sticky with spilt beer. "I know that's not the kind of thing you wanna hear."

"Can't say it is." But not for the reason she probably believed. His knuckles had a date with Kelso's face, maybe a second and third date, too.

"And Daddy's always off on one business trip or another..." Her gaze stayed on the floor, and her fingers knotted together. "Even when we're in the same room, it's like he's not there."

Hyde jerked the material of his shirt repeatedly, generating a cooling effect. His discomfort was beyond physical, but he said, "My folks were the same way. Drunk on booze, not cash."

Jackie finally looked up. "Your dad, too? But I thought your mom was—"

"Both of 'em."

"Oh."

He rocked his boots on the floor. They made crackling noises thanks to the sticky residue "You kinda fucked up here. Place serves alcohol. I've got two strikes against me—"

"It's not where you come from, Steven. It's what you do." She planted a hand on his knee. "You know better than your parents. You _are _better. Besides..." she squeezed his knee before removing her hand, "the beer's overpriced and watered-down. You're too smart to waste your money like that."

"Too smart for my own good," he muttered.

Then, as if he were being spied on, someone behind him tapped his shoulder. A shaggy-haired guy in a vest held out a joint. "You want?"

Hyde did want, but he refused the offer politely. His attention returned to Jackie, who looked exasperated. "What?"

"I bet that's exactly how Michael started cheating on me," she said. "Laurie offered herself, saying, 'You want?' and instead of declining—like a faithful boyfriend would—he said yes."

Her jaw clamped shut, twitched at her temples, and she shook her head slightly. "You're right, Steven. I am full of girly fantasy crap. I never should've gone back to him after he kissed Pam Macy. Or after he set fire to my living room. But I had this elaborate plan: marry the most beautiful boy, have beautiful children. Be rich forever."

She laughed once, as if it were the most ridiculous idea in the world. "Michael's personality kept getting in the way … but what I couldn't control, I ignored. How square is that?"

"Pretty square," he said. "But you're sheddin' your square skin."

"I am?"

"Rockin' out at a Stones concert, keepin' your wits with Shawny Gridders. It was a clever move to tryin' to buy him off with that pot."

"But it didn't work."

"Doesn't make it any less clever, man. You coulda turned tail, screamed, cried. But you were badass." He cupped her shoulder then realized what he was doing. He un-cupped it, but he was too late. She took his touch as an invitation and cradled his cheek.

"You're unlike any boy I've ever known, Steven." Her thumb caressed his sideburn, like it had the other night, only this time he didn't pull away. The contact tingled in his cheek, his lips. "You're brave, and I don't just mean against skeevy junkies. You're brave enough to question your own thoughts."

He was about to question her, but she said, "You fought them to go on this date with me. To open yourself to the possibility of being loved."

She drew his face closer to hers, and his insides rearranged themselves. His tongue should've blown a raspberry at her. His muscles should've shoved her away. But his organs, soft tissues, and bones were puzzle pieces pounded into the wrong positions. His own body made no sense to him, how it was reacting to her.

Her mouth brushed against his lips, and the crowd burst into white-noise. The Rolling Stones had returned onstage, but Hyde opened his mouth wider as Jackie's tongue eased inside. Escape was still possible. Keith was playing one of Hyde's favorite songs, but Hyde delved further into the kiss, lips pressing eagerly, tongue gliding and tasting. Jackie saturated his senses, and the buzz shaking his body exploded into gnawing heat.

He needed more of her, wanted more. Not just her skin and breath but her mind and whatever fueled the organ beating in her chest. And that revelation shocked him from the kiss.

Jackie stared at him, eyes round, as if a bomb had gone off in the arena. "Oh, my God."

"Uh..." his body became preternaturally still, "yeah."

"Steven, we can't do that again."

Relief didn't flood him, only profound disappointment. "We can't?"

Her breath grew shallow, and her voice quavered. "Not tonight. Because I made Michael wait a year, and I don't think that'll happen with you." She clapped a hand to her mouth. Then she moved it to her flushed cheek. "I won't be the girl who gives it up on the first date."

He'd had plenty of those kinds of girls—enjoyed those kinds of girls—but none of them jumbled his thoughts like Jackie did. Or stampeded through his blood. "And I'm not the guy who'd pry open your legs."

"That's not—Steven, no." She stroked the side of his face with her fingertips. He fought the urge to close his eyes, to soak her in through his skin. "I'm saying that I'd _want _to. You're an amazing kisser—" Her fingers dropped from his face, and she giggled. "And I thought my _shirt_ would make me forget that junkie's horrible tongue. Wow."

Her last word summed up his own experience well, but _you're doomed _also fit. Sex wouldn't be enough for him, not with her. Screwing and bolting was his policy. No responsibilities, no real connection. No consequences. He'd seen how Jackie treated Kelso, demanding, berating, but he'd also seen how Kelso treated her.

Hyde never made promises he didn't keep, and he wasn't afraid to stand by his no. If Jackie could get these two things about him … "Never sign me up for roller-disco lessons again," he said.

Her nose wrinkled, as if he'd confused her. Understandable. His statement had seemingly come out of nowhere, but she said, "I won't."

"Or anything else."

"Okay."

"'Okay'? Not," he imitated her voice, "'Oh, Steven, you're such a kidder!'"

"Yes. I understand you better now," she said. "You need to be you, and you want me to be me, and maybe—just maybe—there's an _us_ somewhere in between."

He didn't respond verbally. Anything he said could and _would_ be used against him a court of Jackie. But he stood up and gestured for her to do the same. Mick sang about not getting satisfaction, an anthem inscribed on Hyde's heart. But as Hyde's arm settled onto Jackie's shoulders, and her arm slid around his waist, he knew the song no longer applied to him.

* * *

><p>The parking lot was jammed with cars. Everyone wanted to leave the MECCA Arena at the same time. Horns honked, wheels screeched on pavement, but Hyde sat patiently in the Lincoln with Jackie. A path would open up soon, and Foghat's "Stone Blue" played on the radio. Jackie hadn't fought him over choosing the station, so life was good.<p>

"Our first date's just about over," she said. "What did you think?"

Getting to see one of his top two bands in concert, with a chick who'd upended his grasp on reality? Best date he'd ever been on, but he said, "'The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.'"

"Is that Shakespeare?"

"Somethin' you'll read next year in Mrs. Murphy's class."

"What does it mean?" She put up a hand before he could answer. "No, I _know _what it means. But why did you say it?"

Because he'd written her off while knowing next to nothing about her. "It means: where do ya wanna go on our second date?"

Her face brightened, and his mood brightened with it. That red X he was painting over his life, she made him want to douse it with turpentine. Made him believe he could.

She flung her arms around his neck and inadvertently pulled him toward the windshield. He bumped against the steering wheel, causing the Lincoln to honk, and the BMW in front of them sped out of the parking lot. The opportunity to leave had presented itself, but also had an opportunity of a different kind.

He embraced Jackie back, really held her for the first time. She was soft in his arms and fit against him like she belonged there. "So," he said, "our second date?"

"I don't care where we go as long as I'm with you."

"How's about we swing by my old neighborhood? Left my torsion wrench in the—"

"A movie!" she blurted by his ear. Then she lowered her voice. "Let's go to the movies."

He laughed into her hair. "The movies it is," he said, even as his stomach shrank with embarrassment. No girl had ever gotten him to be this moronic and unguarded.

Or as happy.


End file.
